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HOTEL PONCE DE LEON—ST 


















































































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FLORIDA 

THE AMERICAN RIVIERA 

ST. AUGUSTINE 

THE WINTER NEWPORT 


THE PONCE DE LEON 
THE ALCAZAR 


THE CASA MONICA 









PRINTED BY 

GILLISS BROTHERS & TURNURE, THE ART AGE PRESS 
400 WEST I4TH STREET. NEW YORK 

1887 






Copyright, 18S7, by Carr£re & Hastings, Architects 
3 Bowling Green, New York 
All rights reserved 






FLORIDA 


The American Riviera 


“ Knowest thou the land where the lemon trees bloom. 

Where the golden orange grows in the deep thicket’s gloom. 
Where the wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows 
And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose?" 


ES; at the southern extremity of the United States and 
projecting from the American continent lies a slip of 
land forming one of the grand political divisions of the 
country, and known in the American galaxy as Florida. 

Florida, the American Italy, holds physically the 
same position to this continent that her classic prototype 
does to Europe, while her advantages are infinitely greater. Free alike 
from the chill mistral, which blows from the snow-clad Apennines, and the 
stifling sirocco from torrid Sahara, she rests upon her coral bed and 
beckons the stranger to linger amid her orange groves without fear of the 



FLORIDA—THE AMERICAN RIVIERA 


dreadful tremblado which menaces volcanic shores. Nor does she depend 
upon an inland sea for bracing airs. With the waters of the Gulf of Mexico 
on the west and south and the vast Atlantic lying at her feet, she receives 
from every quarter of heaven life-laden breezes, tempered to a most charm¬ 
ing equability by that “ salubrious mystery ”—the Gulf Stream. 

Since Lord Brougham realized the benefit of a retreat to Cannes 
multitudes have each winter sought refuge from the blasts of Northern seas, 
and neither the terrors of the English Channel nor the vexations of 
custom-house officials have been able to deter them from seeking the sun¬ 
shine of Nice, Cannes and Mentone; only an earthquake could do this. 

Experience and statistics establish the fact that to battle with the 
rigors of a Northern winter involves an expenditure of vitality which 
shortens life. To be deprived of the vivifying effect of sunshine; to breathe 
air whose oxygen has been burned in a furnace; to resist the intense cold, 
the bitter winds and the snow-dampness of the Northern atmosphere, are 
experiences through which none but the strongest can hope to reach much 
beyond middle age. The vexatious alternative of imprisonment in close 
quarters, or the dangers attending exercise out of doors, with the consequent 
tax upon nervous power, have forced the recognition of the necessity in 
many cases, and of the desirability in all, of exodus to a milder winter 
climate. To those accustomed to apartments in Northern cities it is 
especially easy to throw off this bondage of winter, and, at less cost, to find 
in Florida a more luxurious life, where a sun-warmed atmosphere replaces 
the baked air of anthracite furnaces, and where continuous bright days 
invite to healthful out-door enjoyment. The change once made, a repeti¬ 
tion becomes irresistible, until a life-time habit is formed, and the winter 
resident of Florida pities, while he wonders at, those whom he has left 
behind him in the frozen North. Here are the vivid blue skies and brill¬ 
iant sunshine of Egypt and of Spain, while the “best loved west wind” 
sighs through the pine barrens with sweet and hallowed tone, bearing to 
the invalid resinous and healing odors. 

Look upon Florida in April, and cease to wonder that the stern 



OLD CITY GATE—ST. AUGUSTINE 


7 

















FLORIDA—THE AMERICAN RIVIERA 


old Cavalier Ponce de Leon, in pursuit of a chimera, should have been 
entranced by the sight he saw from the deck of his caravel upon arriving 
on the coast in 1512. Here not only flowers, shrubs, and undergrowth by 
millions were in bloom, but the very forest trees filled the air with the 
fragrance of their blossoms. The palmetto spreading its fan-like leaves 
vies in majestic stateliness with the plumes of the date palm, while the 
magnolia reflects the glowing sunshine from its glossy leaves and contrasts 
its cream-like flowers with the radiant scarlet of the Indian pomegranate. 
Lilies in their grace and purity, as of old, put to shame “Solomon in all 
his glory,” and the vine with delicate tendrils clings round every rugged 
trunk that needs a shade. Verbenas carpet the earth with matchless 
colors, and when the heavens, which are always blue, are bespangled with 
stars, the air is filled with showers of fire-flies, lighting up the dark cypress 
and ancient cedars, hung with funereal mosses, and presenting a weird 
picture of beauty which pen fails to describe. All this, and more than this, 
Ponce must have beheld when he landed, and in this Elysium of constantly 
renewed bliss of youth and beauty can it be doubted that he religiously 
believed he had realized the fable of the promised land ? 

We claim that the day-dreams of the sixteenth century have become 
the realizations of the nineteenth, and that the true Elixir of Life is to be 
found in this incomparable treasury of balmy airs, golden sunshine- and 
health-giving waters. Like the inexhaustible stores of mineral wealth 
hidden away in the vast recesses of the American continent and upon which 
the Almighty had set his “ time lock,” these treasures only await the “ open- 
sesame ” of modern progress and effort. In a soil which only needs “ to be 
tickled with the hoe to smile with the harvest,” the products are as varied 
as they are valuable. Among the staples are cotton, sugar and tobacco, 
while Florida stands peerless among all the world’s southern latitudes in 
the production of the orange. Here, growing side by side, we find the 
stately date palm of Asia, the pepper tree of Sumatra, the fig of Syria, while 
the variety and quantities of small fruits sent North during the midwinter 
season attest the capabilities of this most favored State as temptingly to 







EPISCOPAL CHURCH GROVES—ST. AUGUSTINE 



















ST. AUGUSTINE—THE WINTER NEWPORT 


the epicure as do the gigantic oaks, the kingly palmettos and fantastic 
yuccas to the lover of nature. 

Beautiful, generous land, offering every gift to man that man’s heart 
can rightly desire, surely Ponce de Leon might have been satisfied with 
his portion of the discovery. 


ST. AUGUSTINE 

The Winter Newport 


“ The St. Augustine of the present and the St. Augustine of the past 
are in striking contrast. 

“We see to-day [1859] a town less in population than hundreds of 
places of but few months’ existence, dilapidated in its appearance, with the 
stillness of death hanging over it, its waters undisturbed except by the pass¬ 
ing canoe of the fisherman, its streets unenlivened by busy traffic, and at 
midday it might be supposed to have sunk under the enchanter’s wand into 
an almost eternal sleep. With no participation in the active schemes of life, 
and no hopes for the future; with no emulation and no feverish visions 
of future greatness; with no corner lots on sale or in demand; with no 
stocks, save those devoted to the disturbers of the public peace; with no 
excitements and no events; a quiet, undisturbed, dreamy vision of still-life 
surrounds its walls and creates a sensation of entire repose, pleasant or 
otherwise, as it falls upon the heart of the weary wanderer sick of life’s 
busy bustle, or upon the restless mind of him who looks to nothing as life 
except perpetual unceasing action. The one rejoicing in its rest, the 
other chafing under its monotony. And yet about the old city there clings 
a host of historic associations which throw around it a charm which few 
can fail to feel.” 

Again the scene changes, the enchanter’s wand has been uplifted, 
and every count contained in the above indictment has been reversed, 



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CHARLOTTE STREET—ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA 















































ST. AUGUSTINE—THE WINTER NEWPORT 


saving the last, for still about the old city cling her immortal memories, 
and her charm is exerted upon all who enter her gates. 

Half way down the Atlantic sea-board of Florida and on a narrow 
slip of land formed by the St. John’s River on the one side and the Ocean 
on the other is situated St. Augustine—la siempre fiel ciudad—the 
oldest city in America, where the cross was planted, the martyr’s blood 
shed and a vice-regal court was held while Manhattan Island was still 
primeval forest. The hoary ramparts of her ancient fort, her Moorish 
cathedral, her crumbling city gates, her narrow streets, overhanging 
balconies, and the dark-eyed descendants of Spanish cavaliers, who so 
harmoniously complete the picture, furnish materials out of which the 
imaginative have woven many a romance of Old Spain. The escutcheon 
of Menendez is traced in blood, and the foundation-stone of Saint 
Augustine, which he laid, is saturated with the gore of brave and un¬ 
daunted victims to religious tyranny and persecution; and as with “the 
cross first came civilization to these shores ” it was of such a questionable 
variety that doubtless unaccountable paganism , with freedom, was more 
preferable to the untutored savage mind than reasonable Christianity , with 
enforced labor. Historians assert, (in proof of these moral cogitations), 
that the walls of San Marco represent the enforced labor of Indians during 
a period of over half a century, and, perhaps to round a period, “ that every 
stone in its ramparts is cemented with the blood of a victim.” But to the 
charm which the antique and foreign aspect of this little city exercises 
over the pleasure seeker and the dreamer is added, for the practical and 
the invalid, a record of three hundred years of uninterrupted health. Salt 
ocean breezes sweep over it, the soil beneath is infiltrated with ocean tides, 
while from still greater depths gush forth health-giving sulphur springs. 
The air is ever balmy, yet fresh and bracing, there being more or less 
wind every day, and devoid of that moist, oppressive heat which, later in 
the season, visitors find so enervating on the river and in the interior. 
Its very situation—surrounded by sea-rivers and salt marshes—bids 
defiance to that insidious foe, malaria, and every season brings numbers to 


12 


ST. AUGUSTINE-THE WINTER NEWPORT 


St Augustine from New York, the Middle States, and even New England, 
to be cured of its depressing effects. In this connection a quotation from 
the report of Surgeon-General Lawson of the U. S. Army is appropriate: 

“ As respects health , the climate of Florida stands pre-eminent. That 
the peninsular climate of Florida is much more salubrious than that of 
any other State in the Union is clearly established by the medical statistics 
of the army. Indeed, the statistics in this bureau demonstrate the fact 
that the diseases which result from malaria are of a much milder type in 
the peninsula of Florida than in any other State in the Union. These 
records show that the ratio of deaths to the number of cases of remittent 
fever has been much less than among the troops serving in any other 
portion of the United States. In the Middle Division of the United States 
the proportion is one death to thirty-six cases of remittent fever; in the 
Northern Division, one to fifty-two; in the Southern Division, one to fifty- 
four; in Texas, one to seventy-eight; in California, one to one hundred 
and forty-eight; while in Florida it is but one to two hundred and eighty- 
seven. In short, it may be asserted, without fear of refutation, that Florida 
possesses a much more agreeable and salubrious climate than any other 
State or Territory in the Union.” 

Year after year the attractions of St. Augustine have drawn increased 
numbers of pleasure seekers and invalids, until now, like Nice, it is the 
winter home of thousands. As regards all those adjuncts which make our 
exterior life enjoyable, Florida possesses a larger share than any other 
climate on the continent, and old St. Augustine, with her cool sea breeze 
and cloudless sun, enjoys the reputation of being the Eden of Florida. 
While the North wages its annual war with zero and all its attendant 
evils, here the perfection of climate enables one to seek outdoor exercise 
and enjoyments, and none of these present a more attractive pastime 
than that of yachting on St. Augustine water. The Yacht Club—pre¬ 
senting the anomaly of having its “season” during the winter months— 
includes in its membership over two hundred names prominent in the 
chief cities from Boston to San Francisco, and with a constant succession 


13 


ST. AUGUSTINE—THE WINTER NEWPORT 


of regattas, balls, illuminations, etc., adds much to the social enjoyments 
of the place. All out-of-door sports, as riding, driving, tennis, etc., are 
en regie during the entire winter. 

The shooting in the neighborhood is excellent; the woods and 
thickets during the season teem with quail, snipe, etc., while the placid 
waters abound in fish of great variety. There are few days during the 
year when upon the San Sebastian Bridge there are not a score of anglers 
for bass and trout. St. Augustine being military headquarters, excellent 
music is an item of daily enjoyment. Amid all these attractions of climate, 
it is hardly to be expected that there should be no reverse side to the 
picture. Florida occasionally feels the spent breath of a north-easterly 
storm, yet this is so uncommon that it serves but to enhance the sense of 
her rare exemption. Statistics show that during the past fifteen years 
there have been only fifty-two days upon which the mercury has reached 
the freezing point in this benign region, and usually the result is but a 
mere film of ice forming during the night and disappearing before the 
rising sun. During the last fifty years there has been but one frost 
of any severity (1886), and this but served to demonstrate the hardiness 
of the orange tree—the crop following it having been exceptionally fine. 

The light occasional frosts of December are welcomed as preventive 
of the enervating effect of continuous warmth. 

These many and unique advantages have stimulated the aggressive 
spirit of enterprise in St. Augustine. Northern astuteness has measured 
the possibilities of the place, and Northern capital has made them avail¬ 
able. The influx of wealthy and fastidious visitors every winter has been 
met by a commensurate expenditure for their reception, and the millions 
which have recently been invested in St. Augustine have completed its 
claim to be considered the leading winter resort of the country. Besides 
the easy accessibility of St. Augustine—now only twenty-four hours 
from New York—she has the advantage of good shops, of clubs, an 
opera house, a public library, and of well-supplied markets, magnifi¬ 
cent bathing establishments and facilities for all sports. 



15 






ST. FRANCIS STREET—ST. AUGUSTINE 




























































































I 

I 









s 


* 




ST. AUGUSTINE* 

St. Augustine—A Land of the Long Ago—A Chat with a Spanish Antiquity—Quaint Streets—City Gate—Fort 
Marion—The Old Slave Market—The Monuments—The Plaza—Cathedral and Convent 


NOTHER morning breaks, a worthy successor to the 
last; it seems made up of some heavenly alchemy— 
a tissue of golden glory and shimmer of silver sheen. 

Over the silent sea and yet more silent land a 
supreme stillness reigns, unbroken by • the rustle of 
leaves or whirr of the invisible insect world. The 
great sun hangs like a ball of fire in the pale skies, and fills the land with 
dazzling light. The green earth, with all her wealth of fruit and flowers in 
her lap, seems wrapt in a sweet languor, as though she had fallen asleep 
and was smiling in her dreams; while her giant sons of the forest and 
straggling children of the plains lift their leafy fingers to their lips, and 
whisper to the wandering wind, “ Hush! she is weary, let her rest,” and 
the red roses and white lilies nod their heads drowsily and sleep with 
her. The very dogs doze dreamily in the sun; they do n’t seem to have a 
good honest bark or vigorous wag of the tail left in them. Life—the busy, 
bustling, nineteenth-century life we know of—exists not here. We feel as 

* The following chapter, taken from a book entitled “ Down South,” written by Lady Duffus Hardy, and published in 1880, 
is inserted by permission of the author. 







ST. AUGUSTINE 


though we had gone to sleep in the world of to-day and been carried 
away in our dreams, and woke up in an ancient city of two hundred years 
ago. 

This dear, romantic St. Augustine! It is not grim with age, nor gray 
and hoary with the rust of time. It is like an old-fashioned beauty who 
has been lying in state through these long years, pranked in all her finery 
of feathers, furbelows, paint, powder, and patches, and now wakes up and 
walks and talks with us in the quaint stilted phraseology of old days. 
Never was change of time and place so sudden, so strangely felt, as the 
transition from brilliant Jacksonville and pretty, pleasant Fernandina to 
this quiet, quaint old-world city, wherein the dignity and simple grace of 
the Spanish cavaliers who first conquered, settled and peopled it, seems 
still to linger; we can almost fancy we see their shadowy forms stoop their 
plumed heads as they pass in and out of their ancient homes, with gilt 
spurs jangling and swords clanging at their heels. We are steeped to the 
lips in the spirit of the middle ages all round us, and everywhere we 
recognize the features and individualities of days dead and gone. 

The hotels, built expressly for the service of the traveling world, are 
the only touches of modern life we find herein—no other thing of modern 
birth dares lift its head in St. Augustine. As a rule the inhabitants seem 
made to match the place—indeed, they are a part of it. Many are the 
descendants of the early settlers, and they and their fathers before them 
have lived there all their days, and still occupy the ancient dwellings of 
their race. 

Passing by one of these old coquina homes I saw an old Spaniard 
sitting in the porch smoking his pipe, while his granddaughter, a bright¬ 
eyed brunette, sat rocking her baby by his side, while an immense fuschia 
tree in full bloom shook out its crimson flowers above them. I stopped 
to inquire the way to the “ city gate.” He rose up, tall, straight, erect to 
his full height, over six feet, doffed his cap, and with the stately courtesy 
of his race came down, leaned over the fence, and directed us on our way, 
adding:— 

ii 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


“You ’re strangers, I think ? A good many come here nowadays.” 

We were in no hurry to go on; seeing he was conversationally in¬ 
clined, we gratified him, and ourselves likewise; we lingered for a pleasant 
chat—one gains so much in these wayside gatherings. He volunteered 
some bits of interesting information about the place, about his family, and 
about himself. I made some touristical observation about the appearance 
of the city and its salubrious situation, and inquired how long he had 
lived there. 

“I was born with the century,” he said, “and I was born here in this 
very house I live in.” 

“Why, you don’t look like eighty years of age,” I remark. 

“ No, nor I do n’t feel like it, lady,” he answered; “ but I’m in my 
eighty-second year, and I feel hale and strong yet. I’ve lived through 
some troublous times, too; it hasn’t always been fair weather here in St. 
Augustine.” 

Seeing we were interested in anything concerning St. Augustine, and 
anxious to glean any scraps of information, he opened the gate and invited 
us to “ walk in ” and rest. As we were scarcely a hundred yards from our 
hotel we did not want to “ rest,” but we walked in nevertheless and sat 
down in the porch and prepared for a gossip; it was easy to lead him 
to talk of the old days, he seemed to enjoy fighting his battle of life 
over again. 

“ Yes, I’ve seen a good many changes,” he said, warming to his 
work. “ Few men have lived a life out on one spot and seen so much 
—so many revolutions, things, thoughts, governments and people chang¬ 
ing, but the place remaining just the same; there’s been no pulling 
down old landmarks in St. Augustine, and the wear and tear of 
time isn’t much. You see the city is all built of coquina, and that is 
stronger than stone—the older it is the harder it becomes. Yes, I’ve 
seen the British flag flying from the old fort, the Spanish banner flying; 
now we are under the eagle’s wing, and the stars and stripes are fluttering 
over us.” 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


“I suppose you would as soon live under one rule as another?” I 
venture to say. 

“ Provided they rule well, yes; and we Ve nothing to complain of 
now; the laws are easy, and we are left to live and work in peace, though 
up to the last few years we’ve been liable to hostile incursions of the 
Indians. Why, I’ve seen them swarm over the bastions yonder, and come 
whooping and yelling through the streets, filling the air with their hideous 
war-cry—such scenes, dear ladies, as I dare not tell you of; now we are 
under the American flag, and, the Blessed Lord be thanked, we are at 
peace.” 

He took us through his orchard at the back of the house, and on to 
a small orange grove of about an acre, which he proudly informed us he 
managed all himself. We gathered and ate some oranges—deliciously 
cool and refreshing they were; he apologized for their size and scarcity, 
as the trees had been stripped of their finest fruit some weeks ago. 

As yet we had only caught a general view of St. Augustine, and we 
hurried on to make acquaintance with its special features. The streets are 
narrow and crooked, varying from ten to twenty feet wide, the houses 
having verandas or balconies jutting out overhead so close together that 
the ladies thereon can almost shake hands across from one side of the 
road to the other. There are no regular pavements or sidewalks, and the 
roads are laid with broken oyster or mussel shells. The houses are 
mostly built of a kind of compressed shell-stone called “coquina,” which 
is quarried from the island of Anastasia, that lies about a mile across the 
harbor and separates St. Augustine from the Atlantic Ocean. This is 
the oldest European settlement in America, and was settled long 
before the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. The most picturesque and 
romantic of all the quaint old streets is St. George street, with its curious 
houses and hanging balconies clinging along the fronts thereof, which are 
generally covered with climbing plants. The white coquina walls rise 
straight and bare direct from the roadway; the windows are small and 
closely curtained, as though the old Spanish dons still jealously guarded 


iv 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


their hidden beauties from the sight of man. There is an air of great 
seclusion everywhere—we might be wandering through an Oriental city; 
but we know that behind these bare walls there are blooming gardens of 
oleander, magnolia, orange and lemon trees; occasionally we get a 
glimpse of some rich striped lily or glowing passion-flower nodding over 
the wall. 

Mr. Lorillard has a beautiful villa here—a touch of to-day in the land 
of the yesterdays. It is of quaint though modern architecture, and is full 
of gable ends and corners. The smooth-shaven lawn and flower gardens 
are simply railed in and in full view of the passer-by. Whichever way 
you turn you catch a breath of poetry and romance; a scent of the days 
gone by clings round the ancient homes and pervades the air, having a 
subtle effect upon our spirits. We fancy we hear the clang of arms, and 
the long-silent voices ringing in the air, and shadowy forms are gliding 
beside us, haunting the old scenes where they walked and talked so many 
centuries ago. 

At the top of St. George street stands the ancient city gate, which 
once formed part of the old stone wall which, running from shore to shore, 
protected the city from hostile incursions. The greater part of the wall 
has long since disappeared, but a rude, rugged, moss-covered mass clings 
around, as though it helped to support the tall ornamental towers which 
once rose up on each side of the city gate, and which still stand massive 
and strong, like sentinels who will not be beaten from their post, though 
a great gap yawns where the gate has fallen from its rusty hinges. Coming 
through St. George street we look straight through to the wide stretches 
of country beyond. The sentry boxes scooped out of the solid wall are 
there still, exactly as when the last guard stepped from them in obedience 
to the bugle call, when the sun had set and the sentry was relieved. This 
is, perhaps, the most ancient and certainly the most picturesque ruin in 
this portion of the country. 

Passing between the still stately towers we come in full view of Fort 
Marion, one of the most attractive features of St. Augustine. It was com- 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


menced in the year 1592, but was not completed till the year 1756. It is 
a remarkable, fine, and imposing structure—grand, gray and massive, 
standing on a gently rising hill outside the town, and lifting its gloomy 
front towards the sea. No ruin is Fort Marion, but perfect in all its parts, 
stamped only with the desolation and dreariness which must brood over 
any place that is deserted and unused for a certain number of years. 

The labor of construction is said to have been wholly performed by 
negro slaves and prisoners of war. The moat is now dried up and over¬ 
grown with grass and rank weeds; but there are the draw-bridges, the 
massive arched entrance, the barbican, the dark passages, frowning 
bastions, and mysterious dungeons. A whiskered sergeant—a remnant of 
military glory—has charge of the fort, and lives in a pretty, rose-covered 
cottage outside. In company with several other tourists we explored the 
curiosities of the old fort. One large dingy stone chamber, with vaulted 
roof and damp floor, like a gigantic cellar, was occupied by the towns¬ 
people, who came flocking to the fort for shelter, some few years ago, when 
the place was threatened by an irregular army of piratical marauders; the 
ashen embers where they baked their last loaf of bread still lie upon the 
iron plate, and the empty oven yawns hungrily open. This apartment, 
itself but dimly lighted, leads into a huge, dark dungeon, black as Erebus; 
but the “ dark dungeon ” par excellence lies beyond, and to this treat-in- 
store we proceed. Chill, black, and dismal as the grave, is this partly- 
underground dungeon, where in 1835 two skeletons were found chained 
to the wall—victims, no doubt, to some cruel Spanish inquisition. We 
stand shivering in its chilly blackness while our guide gives us frag¬ 
mentary sketches of the history of the fort. The last prisoners confined 
here were a number of refractory Indians, stirrers-up of trouble, horse- 
thieves, and general marauders, who were sent hither by the order of 
United States Government in 1874, but were released in 1878. In no 
cruel dungeon like this “dark cell,” however, were these “braves” confined. 
A large, casemated chamber was prepared for their reception; they where 
taken out in squads for exercise, and under proper surveillance were even 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


allowed to bathe. They have left their sign-manual upon the walls— 
specimens of Indian art in the shape of sundry sprawly sketches of man 
and beast. For, as is well known, the Indians are fond of drawing, 
and will draw on anything and with any kind of material that will make a 
mark. They will even exchange a surplus squaw for a few pencils or 
paint brushes. Crude and out of all proportions as their productions are, 
they illustrate the minds and peculiar proclivities of the people. An 
Indian never represents himself as standing, dancing, or walking; he is 
always on horseback, and always fighting against fabulous numbers, and 
always a conqueror, riding victorious over a score of prostrate foes. We 
pass through an antique chapel, whence the worshipers have fled “into 
the silent land ” and left it deserted except for the ghostly echo which rises 
up and follows us as we pass through. We peep through dusky passages, 
ramble up and down crumbling stone stairs, cross the barbican, pass many 
worm-eaten oaken doors which, we are told, “ lead nowhere in particular,” 
and presently emerge upon the grassy, battlemented slopes of the old 
fortification and look out across the bay, over the island of Anastasia, to 
the sea beyond. After wandering for a brief period through these gloomy 
precincts, and inhaling the damp, imprisoned air of the dungeons, it is 
pleasant to stand in the sunlight and breathe the fresh air of heaven again. 
We promenade the battlements and look down upon the lovely fort with 
barbicans and towers, esplanades, draw-bridges, and grass-grown moat 
spread out before and around us. Lifting the eyes and gazing further 
off we have a magnificent land and sea view, with the quaint old city 
with its lovely gardens grouped at our feet. 

We meet many other promenaders who, like ourselves, appreciate the 
glorious view, except in some cases when the view is bounded by a sun- 
bonnet on one side and a wide sombrero, shading a bearded masculine 
face, upon the other. There was Darby enjoying the evening air, with his 
fat wife Joan trudging by his side; and here was a tall young lady of 
Amazonian deportment solemnly parading side by side with her latest 
conquest—a small, meek young man, who had evidently no strength 

vii 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


to resist capture and could not close his ears to the voice of the charmer. 
He wore spectacles and a blue necktie, reminding one somewhat of a pet 
sheep being led by a blue ribbon; one half expected to hear him reply 
with a soft “ Baa—aa” to the tender tones of his lady-love. Now in turn¬ 
ing a shady corner we come upon a pair of time-honored flirts, who had 
left their youth a long way behind them, and are now shooting their 
blunt little arrows at one another, both well practiced, and evidently little 
damage is done on either side. 

Descending presently from our vantage ground, we turn our backs 
upon the romantic old fort, looking so gray and lonesome in the sunlight; 
its glories have passed away, and its peaceful solitudes have become the 
haunt of tourists and travelers; the green lizards swarm in its sunny 
corners, and men and women linger through long summer evenings in its 
shady nooks, and make love beneath its frowning battlements. We pass 
along the sea wall, which is of coquina, like most of the buildings here, and 
is about a mile long, forming a magnificent promenade; it is elevated 
above the roadway, and being only two feet wide it gives no encourage¬ 
ment to the “gay and festive throng,” or social gathering on moonlit even¬ 
ings. People generally march in single file and take the air in a solemn 
business-like fashion, though occasionally a pair of young, slim creatures 
cling together and walk side by side, by no means inclined to carp at the 
narrowness of the wall, which compels one arm to slide round the other 
waist, and with a kind of forced pressure to “ hold on ” to save the other 
from falling. On one side is the water, still as a lake, yet indescribably 
seeming to breathe the “salt sweet fragrance” of the vast Atlantic beyond. 

The pretty vessels of the yachting club, with white sails fluttering, are 
curtseying to their own shadows on its surface. On the other side, about 
three feet below the sea wall, is a wide, smooth, shell road, where you may 
enjoy a delightful drive or promenade au cheval; here and there are stone 
steps leading up to the wall, so that you are not obliged to march along 
its whole length, or leap down at the risk of breaking your neck. Front¬ 
ing the water on the other side of the road is Bay Street, the principal 


viii 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


business thoroughfare of the city, where there are some excellent shops, 
and queer old houses which take boarders all the year round, for the win¬ 
ter cold, or summer heat, is never excessive in St. Augustine; it is one of 
the few Floridian resorts which is pleasant at all seasons. The tempera¬ 
ture, calculated by a study of the thermometer for the last ten years, is for 
summer about 80 Fahrenheit; autumn, 70 to 75 ; winter, 58 to 60—a most 
delightful temperature, especially as there is generally a soft balmy east 
wind blowing, though occasionally in the winter time a wild north-easter, 
in its fiercest mood, sweeps over the Atlantic, and wrecks its vengeance on 
St. Augustine and the surrounding coast. People are inclined to smash 
the thermometer which dares to register only sixty when this cruel wind is 
biting them through! 

At the other end of the sea-wall, opposite the fort, are the United 
States Barracks, jutting out at the water side; there is generally a regi¬ 
ment stationed here, when the band plays every day at five o’clock during 
the season. Although this quaint dreamy old city is but a small place, 
there is much of interest to be seen here. 

There is the “ Plaza de la Constitution,” where the good Christians 
burnt their brethren a century ago; it is a large square, laid out with grass 
plots, and flower beds, with paths cut through, leading from one side of the 
Plaza to the other. In the centre stands the curious old market-place, 
roofed in at the top, but open on all sides; this was the ancient slave-mart, 
where “God’s image, carved in ebony,” was bought and sold in most un¬ 
godly fashion; there is the place where they stood, ranged in rows like 
cattle in a pen, so that their purchasers might walk too and fro examining 
them from all points to see that they had their money’s worth. They sit 
there now, these self-same slaves of the old days, with bright kerchiefs 
round their heads, surrounded by fruits and flowers, buying and selling on 
their own account, laughing, chaffing, bargaining with one another with the 
easy air that freedom gives. Close by is the graceful monument erected 
by the ladies of St. Augustine to the Confederate dead, whose names are 
carved upon the shaft. No matter how impoverished the land may have 

ix 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


been, how ruined the people, in every Southern city, small or great, they 
have found money enough to erect a monument,—some most costly, some 
poetic, and all more or less artistic, to those who— 

“ Fell while wearing the grey for them ! ” 

There is another monument, somewhat weather-beaten, erected by the 
Spaniards to commemorate the adoption of the Spanish institutions in 1812. 
Then there is the grey old rookery of a convent, where the withered old 
sisters sit for ever making lace—wondrous fine lace it is, and produced in 
such large quantities we wonder who buys it all. Fronting on the Plaza, 
also, is the old cathedral, with its quaint Moorish belfry, and still more 
quaint and ancient peal of bells, one of which bears the stamp of 1682. It 
is not much regarded from an architectural point of view, its antiquity is 
everything. Partly facing the Plaza, and partly facing the sea breezes, 
stands the St. Augustine Hotel. We preferred the “ Magnolia,” though 
its position is perhaps not so good; it stands in the centre of that queer 
crooked St. George street, and is as pretty and picturesque as, consider¬ 
ing its name, it ought to be, with odd turns and angles, verandas clinging 
everywhere covered with blooming flowers, and beautiful magnolias and 
banana trees in the delicious straggly old garden. The magnolias are not 
yet in bloom, but from their nest of leafy buds we catch a glimpse of the 
creamy flower, and the long purplish crimson leaves of the banana still 
shield the golden fruit from too quick maturity. The oleander is already 
covered with its luxuriance of crimson, pearly pink, and waxen white 
bloom, and the Japan plum tree laden with juicy fruit. 

Stepping out on the veranda in the early morning we find every¬ 
body sucking oranges in the most solemn business-like fashion. The 
gentlemen go at it with a will, and generally work through a whole bas¬ 
ketful of the golden fruit; they make a hole at one end and suck with 
inflated cheeks, like a bevy of ancient cherubs blowing a trumpet, and 
suck in sweet silence, seemingly oblivious of all that is passing round 
them as they take their morning dose of this delicious nectar. Some 
of the ladies peel them with white slim fingers, and extract the juice as 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


daintily as the bee extracts honey from the flower; some of the uncom¬ 
promising feminine family, “ who have no nonsense about them,” pull the 
orange to pieces, mangle its delicate tissues, and disembowel it with ruth¬ 
less teeth. Some work as though they were sucking for a wager, and 
others go through their heap with slow, solemn enjoyment. Those who 
have not eaten a fresh gathered orange in Florida don’t know what an 
orange is. 

All around in the neighborhood of St. Augustine are lovely orange 
groves, and long avenues with cedar hedges, and grand old mulberry trees 
with gnarled and knotted trunks, and heavy branches, that look as anti¬ 
quated as the city itself. Being desirous of entering into, and spending a 
little time in the inspection of some one of the many noted orange groves, 
we were directed to one owned by a prominent citizen, who would, we were 
assured, “ make us right welcome;” and armed with cards of introduction 
we took our way to his residence. Passing along a magnificent avenue of 
stately trees, which bordered his extensive grounds, and closed above our 
heads, shutting the sunlight out, we came to the large iron entrance gate. 
There was a bell, and we rang it, but nobody answered it except a large 
white cat, who emerged from a shrubbery, and rubbed against the gate 
purring and arching her back ingratiatingly as if inviting us to enter. 
Finding no response except this feline welcome, we pushed open the gate 
and walked up to the house, the cat purring a congratulatory purr 
at our heels as if she was very glad indeed that we had come. We 
ascended the “stoop” ( Anglice , door steps), and rang the hall-door 
bell. No answer. We amused ourselves ringing at intervals ; and when 
we were tired of tinkling the bell, which seemed to wake sepulchral 
echoes, we started on a tour of inspection around the house. It seemed as 
dead asleep as the Sleeping Beauty; its eyes were all shut, the sun-blinds 
all rigorously closed. There were seats on the piazza, and we rested for a 
while in the fragrant shadow of a great appopinac tree, whose showers of 
dainty yellow blossoms fell like an odorous golden rain upon the grass, 
while the fairy flowers of the azalea, light as drifted snow-flakes, stirred as 

xi 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


if breathing soft mysteries in the whispering balmy breeze. Meanwhile the 
cat jumped up on my lap and went asleep, until we started afresh on an 
exploration of the grounds; then our feline friend escorted us, her com¬ 
fortable and contented purr allaying the apprehensions of ferocious mastiffs 
which invariably beset us in strange quarters, though our secondary dread 
of steel man-traps, set for more harmful intruders than ourselves, kept us 
cautiously within the boundaries of the gravel walks. 

We found tool-sheds, arbors, bowers, stables, chicken-houses, dog- 
kennels and cottages, but not a sign of life except a portly hen and a brood 
of chickens who fled to their coop at sight of our soft snowflake of an escort, 
whose emerald eyes dilated, and affectionate purring ceased at sight of 
them. Having explored the more domestic portion of the grounds, and 
still finding nobody to show us through the orange plantation, we pro¬ 
ceeded to show ourselves through it. Is there a tree, I wonder, more 
beautiful than the orange, with its shining foliage of dark and glossy 
green, its scented snow of blossoms, its red-gold globes of fruit! Here in 
St. Augustine, although too late in the season for the fullest beauty of the 
groves—the gathering being almost over—we still found here and there 
the flower and the fruit growing amicably together on sister boughs. We 
came upon one glorious tree, its graceful branches bending under the rich 
burden of its fruit of fiery gold, glowing in that southern sunshine. We 
reached down a laden bough, and trespassed on the taken-for-granted hos¬ 
pitality of our unknown and unknowing host to the extent of an orange 
apiece. 

Long had we yearned to taste an orange plucked fresh from the tree ! 
Often had we anticipated the unrivalled freshness of the gushing juice of 
the fruit yet warm to the heart with sunshine, and exhaling still the fra¬ 
grance ot the dews of morning! Now we had got our oranges, “ fresh 
from the tree—dew, sunshine, etc., etc.,” at last. We tasted the long antici¬ 
pated delicacy. Ugh! our dainty morsel turned out to be the bitter rind, 
the biting acrid juice, of that species known as the “ sour orange! ” What 
an excellent moral might have been deduced from this Dead Sea fruit of 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


our desires! It was a sermon in a bite! But, unfortunately, there was 
nobody to whom to preach it, except the cat. We threw our oranges far, 
far away, sadder and wiser women. But the daughters of Eve are incor¬ 
rigible, and, anon, we built our dreams again around a “ fresh mango,” and 
were again disillusioned. Yet unconvinced by many disenchantments, we 
still go on through life seeking our mango or our orange, “ fresh from the 
tree.” 

But that afternoon’s peregrination is still one of our pleasantest mem¬ 
ories of St. Augustine. 

There are plenty of amusements and resorts in and around this quaint, 
mediaeval-looking old place to entertain the tourist, when he has sufficiently 
taken into himself the aspect of this bit of the Middle Ages dropped down 
in the modern bay of the bright New World. 

When you have seen all that St. Augustine itself has to show you, you 
may, with much profit and interest, extend your wandering, and cross over 
to inspect the coquina quarries and the fine lighthouse on St. Anastasia’s 
Island, when the solitary keepers will, perhaps, tell you some stirring inci¬ 
dents of their lonely lives; or you may sail down to the wonderful sulphur 
spring, which boils up from the ocean—its pale blue sulphurous water forc¬ 
ing its way through a hundred and forty feet of the salt sea waves. The 
current is at times so strong (for the spring is intermittent), that a short 
time ago one of the coast survey steamers was floated over the “ boil ” 
of it! 

There is another delightful excursion passing 'through the city gate, 
over a smooth pleasant road, till you turn off to San Sebastain Beach, 
which forms a pleasant drive for many miles, when you may see the ruins 
of some old palisades, which at one time connected Fort Monsa with a 
stockade at San Sebastian. The excursion need only occupy a few hours ; 
unless you choose to linger by the way, you may return to St. Augustine 
in time for dinner. 

There are plenty of occupations wherewith gentlemen may beguile the 
pleasant hours. They can indulge in shooting and fishing expeditions on 

xiii 


ST. AUGUSTINE 


the banks of the Matanzas River, and shoot their own game, catch their 
own fish, and cook their own dinners. It is not an uncommon thing for 
ladies to join in these excursions. They enjoy playing at “being gypsies” 
for a season ; they soon tire of it. 

On one balmy morning early we turn our backs upon the sweet- 
scented old-world city, and take the little fussy, jog-trot train back to 
Tocoi, carrying with us a host of pleasant memories of this delicious, 
dreamy, romantic St. Augustine. 


xiv 


The Ponce de Leon 
The Tllcazar 













































































































































































































' 


























































THE PONCE DE LEON—THE ALCAZAR 


HERE is a general supposition that using the weather 
as a stimulant to conversation is merely a convention, 
tacitly agreed upon by polite society. This is a fallacy 
to be exploded. Weather controls conversation simply 
because it' controls everything else. Climate is 
sovereign. Climate rules religion, character, cuisine 
and architecture. If you go to Rome, why must you do as the Romans 
do? The answer is simple enough—the climate makes you. You 
may resist all you please, but climate will conquer in the end. What 
is a Yankee but John Bull plus the American climate? I chal¬ 
lenge any one to give a better example of the transforming power 
of King Weather. 

As our tourist strolls from the new station along King street, 
with its weird live oaks, hung with gray moss, under which there lies 
a tangled thicket of roses and vines, he begins at once to yield to the 
strange, new influences about him. The sky is of a softer yet more in¬ 
tense blue, the sun seems to shine and glow for each one in a personal 
way, while the air is at once balmy and languorous. 

It will not take long to get a general idea of St. Augustine. It 



19 






THE PONCE DE LEON 


lies on an irregular peninsula formed by the San Sebastian River and 
the arm of the sea, also called the Matanzas. The new station is near 
the San Sebastian River and from there to the harbor is little more 
than a quarter of a mile. Going along King street we pass the 
Moorish Villa, then between the two huge hotels, the Ponce de Leon 
and the Alcazar, of which we are soon to speak. Here crossing a 
broad road and continuing we have the Casa Monica on one side and 
the Government Grounds on the other. This brings us to the Plaza, 
dotted with trees, with its picturesque Spanish cathedral, Slave Market, 
and quaint old Spanish houses, with their overhanging loggias, sur¬ 
rounding it. You see it has not taken us long to get to the sea, or 
rather to the arm of the sea between the peninsula and the long, low 
Anastasia Island which lies a mile off and forms a barrier to the ocean 
beyond. To our right and left lies old St. Augustine—a tangled mass 
of narrow, crooked streets, with overhanging balconies, cool corridors and 
arched verandas. All about us there are suggestions of Spain, but it 
is Spain accommodating itself to the Florida climate. The balconies 
are hung with tropical vines, and bright roses greet us everywhere. 
Memories of the old, shadowy days of Ponce de Leon come to the 
mind as one strolls along the harbor promenade towards the city gates. 
One idly wonders at what point Don Pedro de Menendez landed that 
September morning three hundred years ago, when he took possession 
of the country in the name of his king, Philip II. of Spain. Not far 
off rises Fort Marion, or the Castle of St. Mark, the most conspicuous 
reminder of the long Spanish occupation. 

Everybody who has traveled at all knows the leisurely pleasure of 
the first aimless stroll in a place where he expects to settle down for 
a few weeks. On arriving one goes to the hotel, stopping only long 
enough to see his rooms, and then at once steps out to get a bird’s-eye 
view of the new city. But the first stroll is never long, and after a 
turn up this street and down that, an identification of one or two of 
the “lions,” and a glimpse at a famous view, the traveler invariably 


20 













HOTEL PONCE DE* LEON—SOUTH AND EAST FRONTS 





























THE PONCE DE LEON 


thinks of the hotel which is to be his home for some time. Such has 
been our glimpse of St. Augustine, and now we must turn back towards 
the Ponce de Leon. 

The contrast between a quaint old city and its most comfortable 
hotel is one that generally produces a shock. It is like going from a 
cathedral to a huge bandbox or to a slightly exaggerated Saratoga 
trunk with windows. Sometimes the hotel may be very fair architect¬ 
urally, as in some parts of Switzerland, but it is an architecture quite 
repugnant to the spirit of the place. Specimens of this exotic archi¬ 
tecture have obtruded themselves on our stroll, in the shape of smart 
little Queen Anne villas, with an impudent gable here and a meaningless 
turret there, strongly suggesting that Queen Anne has gone staring mad 
and has attired herself like a dude on Easter Day. 

If, as has been remarked, climate is the king of architecture, then 
history is its queen. A building can defy neither the natural features 
of a place nor yet its old associations. As we return to the Ponce de 
Leon and the Alcazar, at which we glanced hurriedly before, we see at 
once that neither Spain nor Florida are to be banished from us. The 
Ponce de Leon is built in the style of the early Spanish Renaissance, 
which was strongly influenced by the Moorish spirit. What strikes us 
at first, of course, is its vast size and then its picturesque outlines. The 
country about is flat and monotonous, hence our building must be as 
varied in outline as possible. The eye travels from the gateway in the 
centre of the one-story portico up to the corner turrets of the wings, 
then back to the high walls of the main part of the building, and up to 
the great dome surmounted by its graceful lantern, and so finally on 
and up to the huge corner towers that rise one hundred and fifty feet 
into the clear blue sky. 

The coloring is as rich and varied as the outline. The main material 
used for the building—towers and all—is a shell composite of a light 
mother-of-pearl color, that glitters in the sun and turns to dark 
blue the shadows cast upon it by the deep reveals. In contrast with 



23 




- 


HOTEL PONCE DE LEON—VIEW OF MAIN COURT 




























THE PONCE DE LEON 


the main coloring is the bright salmon of the terra cotta, which is the 
material of the ornamentation. This is very rich on the towers and in 
the court—indeed the balconies high up on the towers are of solid 
terra cotta and weigh five tons apiece—but the outer walls of the building 
are simpler, following a rule of this style of architecture, and the lively 
salmon coloring appears only in the coignes, in the arches of the windows 
and verandas, and in the corner towers. 

While we are speaking of color we must not forget the dark 
Spanish roof tiles or the rich faience over the main entrance. The 
loggias overhanging the different facades, with their quaint woodwork, 
remind us of similar ones we have observed in the old town. 

Before entering the court we must notice that the building is a 
monolith. A mile away, on Anastasia Island, there are quantities of tiny 
broken shells that you can run like sand through your fingers. Thou¬ 
sands of carloads of this shell deposit or coquina were brought over 
and then mixed with cement, six parts of shell to one of cement, the 
whole forming an indestructible composite. It is not exact to say that 
the hotel was built; it was cast. For there is not a joint in the building; 
the material was made on the spot, poured in while still soft and rammed 
down three inches at a time. Thus the great building conforms in its 
very material to the natural conditions of the place. The coquina, 
found almost on the very spot, was a suggestion of nature not to be 
overlooked, and the hotel seems far more at home than it would were 
it built of brown stone from Ohio. 

But we must now pass under the portico and enter the court. The 
first impression is one of tropical splendor. Palms, vines, roses, as well 
as plants and flowers strange to a Northerner, fill the great court, which, 
by the way, is 150 feet square. The half of the court towards the 
entrance being lower than the other, you ascend by various short flights 
of steps. Around the court runs a corridor. Opposite the outside 
entrance is the great, low archway through which you enter the hotel. 
“Ponce de Leon” is the legend that runs around the arch—carved on 





25 







































































































































































THE PONCE DE LEON 


shields, a letter to a shield. Above this arch is a brilliant mosaic. 
There are also two entrances for ladies, one in the centre of either 
wing. On either side of each entrance in a niche in the wall there 
is a fountain. The water issues from the mouth of a dolphin, carved 
in high relief. Indeed, the ornamentation of the whole court—and 
there is plenty of it and all imbued with the rich Renaissance spirit 
—suggests the marine character of the main material of the building. 
Mermaids sport among the shields of the great arch, and shells appear 
everywhere. Notice also the scrolls here and there, carved with quaint 
Spanish proverbs. 

But the unique feature of the court is the great grille, or cage, 
rising from the top of each side entrance to the corridor of the third 
story. These two cages are filled with climbing plants and gorgeous 
flowers, among which flash birds of brilliant plumage; thus we find 
carried out on the very walls the richly tropical character of the floor 
of the court. 

A broad flight of steps ascends from the court to the platform 
before the main entrance. Standing here and looking inwards, one gets 
a charming vista. You have before you almost a forest of columns, 
some of oak and some of marble; for you look through the pillars of 
the vestibule to the caryatides of the rotunda and beyond these to the 
columns at the entrance of the dining-room. The vestibule is rich in 
marbles. We now enter the huge space occupied by the rotunda and 
the corridor around it. The floor is an elaborate mosaic made of tiny 
bits of marble in the Renaissance manner. There are two very large 
marble fireplaces, contrasting with the elaborately carved oak wainscot¬ 
ing. In two corners there are fountains. 

Of course one walks at once straight to the centre of the rotunda. 
Whichever way you look, you have a sense of splendid distances. 
Before you is the bright court, with the outside entrance, and beyond 
this the stately Alcazar. On one side is the grand parlor, on the 
other a long hallway, with the main office, (which also opens on to the 


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27 















THE PONCE DE LEON 


rotunda), reading, writing and smoking rooms, barber shop, billiard- 
room for ladies, etc., etc. Turning around you get a long view into the 
huge dining-room. But it is the rotunda itself that claims the attention. 
It is supported by four great piers and eight oak pillars, on each of 
which are carved four caryatides of life size. They have the merry, 
mischievous faces of Spanish danseuses and seem to think nothing of 
the great load they are bearing, unlike many caryatides one can think 
of which appear rather top-heavy, not to say crushed. The rotunda is 
four stories high and around each story runs a corridor with different 
arches and columns. As we look up and see the people peering down 
upon us from these corridors of various heights, we begin to form ah 
idea of the huge dimensions all about us. 

The great dome is decorated with figures carved in high relief and 
above these with paintings after original designs, allegorical represen¬ 
tations of the history of Spain and Florida. The general effect of color 
is very rich. You look straight up through an open space in the form 
of a star, formed by penetrations in the dome, to the copper columns 
of the lantern. 

We must now get a glimpse of the grand parlor—a room 104 feet 
by 53, but divided practically into five rooms by arches, portieres, and 
screens. In this way cosiness is combined with stateliness, and the 
monotony which is the usual drawback attached to a large room is 
broken up. A noticeable feature is an immense mantel-piece rising to 
the ceiling. The ornamentation and the furniture are rich in design and 
coloring. The especial apartments for ladies, reading, writing and 
billiard rooms, open out of the general parlor. 

But the great room of the hotel is yet to be seen. A flight of 
marble steps ascends from the rotunda to a mosaic platform from which 
you pass through a short hall into a room as large as many an opera 
house. This is the great dining-room. The central part of this salon 
is divided from its two rounded ends by rich oak pillars supporting a 
dome around which runs a clere-story. The room is lighted by numerous 


28 







W iMlI 



-uut v niUi^ iliniui u i* u>u»u v . i rri7 |t i ,, n rm^j 


HOTEL PONCE DE LEON—LADIES’ ENTRANCE 


































































































THE PONCE DE LEON 


bay-windows of stained glass, illustrating allegorical subjects. The 
coloring of the decorations in general in this salon carries out the 
Renaissance spirit that appears everywhere else in the building. It is 
enough to say that an artist’s hand has been at work everywhere, even 
in so small a detail as the design of the table-cloth patterns. One may 
dine to the sound of music which floats over the room from a minstrels’ 
gallery above. The dining-room, like all the rest of the hotel, is lighted 
by electricity. If dining is ever a fine art, it surely can be made so 
here, if one is fortunate enough to get a table near a window that over¬ 
looks the orange groves, sweet with flowers, brilliant with leaves and 
fruit, ztnd vocal with the hum of innumerable bees. 

We must take a hurried glance at the part of the hotel devoted 
to the service. This is quite separated from the rest of the building 
by the dining-room. When we say that the pantry is over a hundred 
feet long, we can leave the bakery, the kitchen and the oven to the 
reader’s imagination! 

The dining-room can be approached from the gardens. We have 
already noticed the steps leading from the rotunda to the platform at 
the entrance of the dining-room. Underneath this platform and 
extending from garden to garden is an arched passage, twelve feet 
high, and richly decorated in terra cotta. Carriages can drive through 
this passage, which is really a great porte-cochere. From it, steps ascend 
six feet to the rotunda, from which you ascend six feet more to the 
dining-room entrance. There is another such tunnel behind the 
dining-room. 

The Ponce de Leon is fortunate in finding a site near the most 
beautiful garden in St. Augustine. The orange groves of the Ball 
estate are famous, and these are now included in the hotel grounds. 
In this beautiful garden one can find realized all his dreams of Southern 
splendor. Nothing can be more luscious than to stroll at noon under 
the dense canopy of the Orange Archway or Lovers’ Lane, where the 
trees, planted close together and meeting above, complete a tunnel 


3 ° 





3i 


HOTEL PONCE DE LEON—ARCHITECTURAL DETAILS 











































































































































THE PONCE DE LEON 


over the head. The green above is rich and translucent, the light about 
you is mellow, but dim and mystical, and wherever a sunbeam strays 
through it casts a golden arrow at your feet. But no less effective is 
the grove as seen from the hotel windows. You look down over a sea 
of glossy, brilliant green, dotted thickly with the golden oranges and 
combining richly with the deep Southern sky. But the garden is rich 
in other trees and flowers. What with date-palms and palmettos, 
creamy magnolias and scarlet pomegranates, dainty lilies and brilliant 
verbenas, vines here and mosses there, the garden is a wilderness of 
beauty. And all this without a word about the roses! Turn the wealth 
of all the New York flower shops into Washington Square, and you 
can form some idea of what St. Augustine roses are. 

Perhaps the most prominent feature in the grounds is the Cascade. 
When the workmen were boring for water to be used for the domestic 
purposes of the hotel, they came upon a sulphur spring of such force 
and volume that it was decided to use the water for driving the machinery. 
This spring emits ten million gallons of water in twenty-four hours. 
The Cascade is 450 feet long and is built up in the manner of the 
great Cascade of St. Cloud—ornamented with fountains, statues, stairs, 
etc., and lighted by electricity. 

But there is another garden to see, and this is a unique garden sixty 
feet above the court! Between the two towers and looking down into 
the court on the one side, while it opens toward the interior of the 
dome on the other, is a broad, paved terrace covered with an arbor of 
vines and plants. To this elevators ascend from the ground floor. 
This terrace is extended to the two sides of the building, forming thus 
a splendid promenade. The view takes in the sea, the town, the gardens, 
and the Florida wilderness that creeps up to the very door of St. 
Augustine. A pretty sight is the terrace at night, brilliant with the 
electric light and more brilliant still with lovely women in lovely 
costumes. The width is forty feet, and offers a temptation to a dance 
under the vines and flowers of this similitude of the hanging gardens 


r 



m 


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8! 

m 

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pi 

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33 











PONCE DE LEON—THE DINING ROOM 










































































































THE ALCAZAR 


of Babylon. The great towers can also be ascended and from these a 
yet more extensive view may be obtained. 

We have now seen the public rooms of the Ponce de Leon, and 
a word should be said about the rooms for guests. These are all 
spacious; some of them open on the court garden, some on the loggias 
of the court or on the balconies, while all are airy and command 
charming views. The difficult problem of combining the best plumbing 
and heating apparatus with the best architectural appearance has been 
grappled with and successfully solved. Indeed through the whole 
building comfort and beauty go hand in hand, and neither is ever 
sacrificed to the other. 

The Alcazar serves the purpose of providing amusement and occu¬ 
pation to the visitors of the Ponce de Leon, while it furnishes, at the 
same time, a dependence for those who cannot find rooms in the main 
hotel. Though very different in detail from the Ponce de Leon, it 
follows the same general architecture. The great facade presents a 
pleasing variety of towers, pavilions, minarets, arcades and roofs of 
old Spanish tiles. First there is a crescent arcade of shops, opening on 
the Alameda, or broad plaza that separates the Alcazar from the Ponce 
de Leon. Then you pass through to a square court, a sort of Palais 
Royal with numerous bazaars, gay with all sorts of wares; a good place 
to spend a rainy morning, as a covered arcade extends around the court 
in front of the shops. This court is also a tropical garden. The Alcazar 
has a great sulphur swimming bath, a salt water bath, tennis grounds, 
club-rooms and all sorts of aids to merry-making. Besides all this it 
has 300 bedrooms, and a large general restaurant. Connected with the 
Alcazar there is also one of the finest Turkish and Russian bath houses 
in the world. 

A word as to the situation chosen for these two hotels. They are 
near the old town, and that after all is the great attraction of the place, 
except the climate, which is everywhere! Had a site been selected 
outside the city walls there would have been quite a long and sandy 


34 


THE ALCAZAR 


walk to the town, and walking is not altogether a pleasure in the South. 
We have already spoken of the charming old garden of which advantage 
has been taken. 

St. Augustine has been gaining steadily in favor as a resort for 
those who dread a Northern winter. It has one great advantage over 
its rivals, the Riviera and Egypt, and that is its nearness. Between New 
York and Italy there lies the stormy Atlantic, never more stormy than 
the late autumn, when the invalid Northerners are forced reluctantly to 
leave their homes. But between New York and St. Augustine there is 
only a short ride of twenty-four hours. Then, too, although it forms a 
part of our republic, it seems like a bit of old Europe drifted over and 
cast ashore, and we have seen that this romantic air has been increased 
and not lessened by the erection of the great hotels. 

In point of climate it is quite equal to the Riviera. There are 
occasional light frosts which save the place from an enervating warmth, 
but the air is usually deliciously warm and balmy, and the invalid can 
enjoy an outdoor life. St. Augustine is singularly free from malaria, 
as well as from the cold mistral, the withering sirocco, or the sudden 
earthquake, all of which can be numbered among the possibilities of a 
winter at Nice. The heat of the later spring is tempered by the pure 
ocean breezes. 

There is plenty of amusement in the vicinity; anglers can fish for 
bass and trout, sportsmen can range the woods and thickets for snipe 
and quail, and yachtsmen may enjoy sailing about the Venice-like 
lagoons. Indeed the traveler to St. Augustine can assure himself that 
he will be housed comfortably and picturesquely, amused abundantly and 
in great variety, while he will breathe an air that is always sweet and 
pure, and bask in a genial sun that shines from a cloudless sky. 


35 


TEMPERATURE RECORD, IN DEGREES, FOR ST. AUGUSTINE, FLA., FOR TEN YEARS 

[From a paper read before the American Climatological Association, June i, 1887, by Dr. Frank 1 . Smith, of St. Augustine] 


YEARS. 

November. 

December. 

January. 

February. 

March. 

April. 

Mean. 

1877-78 . 

65.61 

59 37 

53-77 

56-94 

64.48 

69.63 

6l .29 

1878-79 . 

62.33 

53-94 

54 36 

57-25 

62.51 

67.66 

59-39 

1879-80. 

65.10 

63-33 

62.35 

62.15 

69.78 

72-37 

65.87 

1880-81. 

64.29 

55-0 

52.79 

56.99 

58. IO 

64.24 

58 59 

1881-82. 

67-39 

61.49 

62.79 

6l .02 

65.25 

69 55 

64.58 

1882-83. 

61.04 

55.12 

57-48 

61.95 

58.42 

68.50 

60.36 

1883-84. 

64-77 

59-58 

50.21 

60 53 

65-57 

66.99 

61.34 

1884-85. 

63.85 

60.86 

58.60 

54.98 

58-03 

68.02 

60.72 

1885-86. 

61 23 

54.20 

50.27 

53-°7 

58.68 

64-33 

57-04 

1886-87. 

61.39 

52.90 

52.60 

62 91 

59.07 

67.56 

60.26 

Mean. 

63.69 

57-59 

55-51 

58.77 

6l .98 

67.88 

60.94 


ST. AUGUSTINE, FLA., WEATHER RECORD FROM NOVEMBER TO APRIL (SIX MONTHS) 



I& 77 - 7 & 

1878-79 

1879-80 

l88o-8l 

l88l-82 

1882-83 

1883-84 

1884-85 

1885-86 

1886-87 

Mean. 

Mean degree of temperature at \ 

7 A. M. 1 

57-55 

54.OI 

61.69 

53-59 

59-75 

56.66 

56.18 

56.67 

52.68 

54-58 

56.336 

Mean degree of temperature at ) 

2 P. M. ( 

66.58 

66.22 

72.61 

64.99 

70.29 

65.60 

68.23 

65.92 

62.77 

69.97 

67.318 

Mean degree of temperature at ) 

9 P. M. f 

60.66 

57-95 

63 30 

57-19 

63.71 

58.83 

59.61 

59-59 

55-67 

56.23 

59-274 

Total number of days with tern- ) 
perature above 70.( 

81 

93 

127 

73 

127 

77 

I04 

73 

58 

90 

9°-3 

Total number of days with tern- ) 
perature above 60.( 

158 

148 

176 

146 

170 

143 

156 

146 

128 

156 

152.7 

Total number of days with east- ) 
erly winds from Gulf Stream. \ 

102 

73 

99 

77 

123 

82 

89 

84 

92 

85 

90.8 

Total number of days with south- { 
erly winds.( 

62 

35 

38 

36 

68 

3 1 

44 

27 

30 

IO 

38.1 

Total number of days with rain- ) 
fall .( 

N* 

33 ( 23 ) 

N 

24(16) 

N 

29(20) 

N 

34 (G) 

/- — \ 

a £ 
o\ 

CO 

N N 

35(18)27(18) 

N 

39 ( 24 ) 

N 

51 ( 25 ) 

N 

24 ( 13 ) 

N 

33 - 5 (i 9 -i) 


* N=Rains at night. Yearly winter mean of 33.5 days on which rain fell, of which 19.1 were at night, leaving 14.4 days in 
the 181 days of each winter upon which rain fell during daylight. 


36 





























































































































































The Casa Monica 

















































































































































































































































































































































































- 







HOTEL CASA MONICA—ON THE ALAMEDA- 




/'. W. Smith , Architect 











































































































AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA 








































































































































































































































THE CASA MONICA 


the completion of the Casa Monica in January, 1888, 
another surprise will await visitors to St. Augustine. 
Fortunately for those who cling to the ancient land¬ 
marks, the projectors of the remarkable groups of Spanish 
hotels upon the Alameda are not iconoclasts. Nothing 
is cast down, in the march of improvements, of any 
historic interest. Per contra, not only are these new buildings located 
beyond and around the old Spanish precincts, leaving them intact, but 
they are made to harmonize charmingly with those old and interesting 
features. 

The Casa Monica would be at home in any of the old cities of 
Spain, like those huge castles which dominated neighborhoods in feudal 
times. Its impression of strength and massiveness increases as the eye 
ascends the lofty towers from base to battlements. With no need for 
protection against battering rams of chivalrous ages, there is satisfaction 
that in the wood-built Southern towns the enemy of to-day—the fire fiend 



41 












THE CASA MONICA 




-would be foiled in an assault upon these ponderous stone walls. Like 

the others of this group, 
the Casa Monica is a huge 
fire-proof monolith. Prob¬ 
ably nowhere in the world 
are to be found mono¬ 
lithic structures of such 
dimensions as these three 
new hotels upon the 
Alameda. The concrete 
“House of Sallust” in 
Rome, recently dismantled 
for the modern “Via Nazi- 


onale,” was, in material, a coun¬ 
terpart of these. While other 
remains of block masonry could 
be detached by machinery of 
great strength, the house of con¬ 
crete, after centuries of resistance 
of fire and earthquake and war, 
could only be destroyed by 
dynamite. 

The imposing entrance to the 
Casa Monica is suggested by one 
of Spain’s finest monuments— 
“Puerto del Sol” (Portal of the 
Sun), at Toledo. A high arch¬ 
way is flanked by a square 
tower on the left and a round 
tower on the right, from whose 
battlements float respectively the 
flags of Spain and America. 
























THE CASA MONICA 




From these two towers stretch two wings, ending at Cordova street with 
another still higher tower. Around the corner on Cordova street con¬ 
tinues the west facade, 
making a total frontage of 
450 feet. 

The ornamentation of 
the front facade consists 

A 

of tiles, imported from 
Valencia, set in panels 
with brilliant effect. These 
Spanish tiles also decorate 
stone balconies, which 
lighten each wing in their 
upper stories. The lower range of windows is charmingly set off. by 
Angelo balconies, after those of Seville. They were originally designed 
by Michael Angelo, 
and named by him 
“kneeling balconies” 
because of the pro¬ 
truding base, which 
enabled the faithful 
to kneel during the 
religious processions 
of his day. Their 
picturesqueness is en¬ 
hanced by flowing 
draperies from the 
windows, in Spanish 
colors, thrown out¬ 
wardly over them. A 
section of the west 
front has several tiers of recessed balconies, also of stone, overlooking 


43 





























THE CASA MONICA 


the handsome gardens of the Alameda in front of the Alcazar. At the 
corner of Cordova street stands a most unique feature—a stately stone 

column which rises to 
the third story, support¬ 
ing a circular balcony 
with a doorway in the 
angle of the tower. 

The location of the 
Casa Monica has ad¬ 
vantages possessed by 
no other hotel, for every 
window of its long 

CASA MONICA—VERANDA - - . - 

frontage looks upon the 

magnificent pile of the Ponce de Leon opposite, and also upon either 
the beautiful Alcazar and Moorish villa, with their gardens, or the 
old Spanish palace and grounds, with 
the Plaza and Bay beyond as acces¬ 
sories. Besides the very great charm 
of such outlook and the freedom of the 
groves and gardens of the Ponce de Leon, 
is the exceptional openness to air and 
sun, owing to the quite peculiar range 
of public and private grounds around 
the building. It will be difficult to decide 
which rooms will have the most at¬ 
tractive prospect, though they are upon 
an equality in a sanitary point of view. 

Upon entering the archway of the 
“Puerto del Sol” one finds himself in 
an open court, in which orange trees 
have been left to scatter perfume from 
midwinter blossoms. Around this opening is a continuous line of stone 




44 






















THE CASA MONICA 



CASA MONICA—MAIN ENTRANCE 

On the right of the main entrance is the round tower, the ground 
floor on the front containing a ladies’ writing-room. This leads into 
the drawing-room, also facing' King street. Adjoining the drawing-room, 
on the rear, is a novel feature—a “Sala del Sol,” or sun parlor, 108 feet 
long. This gallery, paved with tiles, has a glass roof, through which 


buildings; the central building of the rear, which is the dining-room, 
being but one story in height, in order that the entire circuit shall be 
opened to the south, and full exposure to the sun, with unlimited 
circulation of air. The kitchen and laundry are in separate stone 
buildings, beyond the possibility of odors therefrom. 


45 






































THE CASA MONICA 




pours direct sunshine, welcome to the delicate on cool days. There is 
also a hall decorated in Saracenic style, for amusements and entertain¬ 
ments among the guests. As the hotel is to have an orchestra, the 


The Casa Monica is appropriately named for the canonized mother 
of St. Augustine —Casa being Spanish for house. There are about two 


Oriental hall will afford opportunity for dancing, as well as tableaus in 
costume appropriate to the surroundings. 


46 




















THE CASA MONICA 


hundred rooms, handsomely furnished and all with gas, closets, electric 
light, etc. They are arranged in suites with private parlors, where meals 
can be served if desired. Perfect drainage is secured by connection 
with the great sewer laid from the Ponce de Leon to the harbor. The 
elevator is within a fire-proof stone shaft, and placed apart from the 
staircase. Thus with all the appliances of a first-class hotel, with the 
cuisine equal to the finest in New York, added to remarkable construc¬ 
tion and enchanting surroundings, the Casa Monica will attract refined 
and appreciative patronage. Families in the North are awakening to 
the fact that the contracted and ill-ventilated apartments which they 
have occupied heretofore during cruel, tedious winters, may happily now 
be exchanged for luxurious life in such a home as Casa Monica, and 
for that constant out-door life which has a charm and healthfulness 
unknown in snowy latitudes. 


47 





























































































































































































































































































































gacKHK5><30- 0- Ucja<4cKJc^j^^^^«tD^3iHDi3g 

g 

* 

ti Hotel Ponce de Leon 

5 St. Augustine, Florida 


T3 


The 


construction of this magnificent building was commenced 
November 30, 1885, and finished May 30, 1887 


Architects 

Carrere & Hastings 

3 Bowling Green, New York 


Builders 

McGuire & McDonald 

St. Augustine, Florida 


Frescoes and Mural Decorations 
George W. Maynard 

New York City, N. Y. 

Thomas Hastings 

(of Carr&re & Hastings), New York City, N. Y. 


Superintendent of Concrete Construction 

William Kennish 
New York 


Superintendent of Architectural Department 
John W. Ingle, Architect 

Representing Carr&re & Hastings 


Upon the following pages will be found cards of a 
firms who have furnished materials and 
supplies for the hotel 


few of the 

























™.s& £ 

IF ^ 

W/ U 

AiifeA. tj 

* 5 


*aq-cKJ-cJ*cJ-0.cJc}cJc^-D<D{DOp»Oi3{3{ 
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Al-j rt 


BAETJER & MEYERSTEIN 

Sole Importers of the 

Hanover Portland Cement 

5 Dey Street, New York 


M 


Over 60,000 barrels have been used in the concrete construction of the Hotel 
Ponce de Leon, Alcazar, Hotel Casa Monica and other buildings 
now in course of erection at St. Augustine, Fla. 


^KK^0C|-c>c^c4<jq'qj.cgspiDOPC'O<o-DO 




OTIS BROTHERS & CO. 

36 & 38 Park Row, New York, U. S. A. 

Standard Passenger and Freight 

Elevators 

Hotel Elevators a Specialty 


< 4 C>CKfCjC}C^CjESSD<Di 3 ^^<D<><D<>tD^i>§|§ 

& 

$ w 

tf * 7 \ 
& o. 

2 


$ fit 


Branches at Boston, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Minneapolis, St. Louis, Atlanta, New Orleans, 
San Francisco, U. S. A.; also, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, and 
American Elevator Co., London and Paris 


8 m 

ft 


$4 

m 


POTTIER & STYMUS 

FURNITURE 


Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street 
NEW YORK 


*cKTcKKkcKFcRT^ 


TcKTc^cld-O'C^ci | 














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tsagtt 

^•c|c^c>-cj-c3> Cj- c£ 0- C^ c£t£?-p L>£>£>P£>£>£) i3il€^C^-Cj d C$ CfCjC^ CK^C^j.'-vD -£>£?£) £3-[DtD£}£)i0iv 

!J # ft 

NELSON, MATTER & COMPANY 

Manufacturers of 

Chamber Furniture 

Warerooms, 202 & 204 Canal Street, New York 

J. W. WHEELOCK, Manager 


t kW $ 

****& t) 


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if 

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f | 
1 ,(•/ 



0 
o 

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# 8 
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•W 8 

Ao & M -0 R' 

«gg|^cjooGj-0-c> cjc^-cj- G>q.c|jt>£>L aooC'-D^t3^mia0a>c>a ac>cK$as>£ &&pt> 


CHICAGO WAREROOMS, 267 WABASH AVENUE 


FACTORY, GRAND RAPIDS, MICH. 


t> 

ft ^ )Bv ^ 

SM 
§ J 4 

$ W 

ft l** 


[Established 1828] 

FRANK A. HALL 

MANUFACTURER OF 

FINE BEDDING 

HOTELS FURNISHED WITH MATTRESSES, SPRING BEDS, BOLSTERS, PILLOWS, 
SHEETS, SPREADS, BLANKETS, Etc. 



No. 200 CANAL STREET, NEW YORK 

AFTER MAY I, 1888 

168 CENTRE ST., NEW YORK, U. S. A. 


§ keGfti 

% m 

g 0 

5 m 

| W 


ft y< 

ft O 

ft I ... 


TV 


PALMER & EMBURY 

Manufacturers of 

Parlor, Library and Dining-Room 

Furniture 


I w 
Iit 


Warerooms, 18, 20 & 22 East 18th Street 


2 .p 

ft v> 

0 c 


M- 


New York 


ft 

0 F/vi 
$ 

ft 
ft 


wra/«Or 

ft 


Factory, Gouverneur Slip and Water St., - 

□ 

CpftTTG-cl G-Ko -■£> •£ >D -D ft ft ft ftftv; 11 

V" Tsft/ 5 - 


a&nXsL^. 

















^3cK^3333333i£L}^O<£*0££!ftO 

o 


600,ocx) Edison Lamps in the United States alone 


tj 




to 


The Edison Electric Light $ fM 

b 0 I 1 , 

%£&&, 

W* 

JL 

0 If 

tr 

ty ■‘ 5 W 3 
ft W! 

§ |U 

g m 

a-a o-3o-33::£>£ £> £><c<c <- A|&> 

$ ? 7 R 


. . Freedom from heat . . 
.... Economy .... 
One 5 ft. gas burner con¬ 
sumes as much oxygen as 
nine people. 


No vitiation of atmosphere 
. . . Convenience . . . 
More nearly the equivalent 
of sunlight than any other 
artificial illuminant . . . 


Estimates for isolated plants furnished on application 

The Edison United Manufacturing Company 

65 Fifth Avenue, New York 


100-333 3333 g>q.c$£3|dd pop-D-DO 


£ 


itsgx Meriden Britannia Co. / 0 g ? 
("^old and ^ilver Plate (IQ! 




TRADE MARK 
White Metal. 


ft 

ry . n pj, 

<3 kkJ 

1 
* m 
t w 

0 m 


Fine Nickel, Silver@White Metal. 

Trade Mark for forks, spoons. Etc. 

1847— ROGERS BROS.—Ai. I -XII. 

- WAREROOMS: 

46 East 14TH Street, Union Square, New York; 

147 State Street, Chicago; 134 Sutter Street, San Francisco; 

7 Cripplegate Buildings, Wood Street, E. C., London, England ; 

AND AT THE 

Factories, Meriden, Conn., U. S. A. Canada Factory : Hamilton, Ontario. 

WM. H. RANSOM CURTIS & CO. Y ffJ 

RANSOM & CO. c 



Wrought & Cast Iron Pipe & P'ittings 

FOR STEAM. WATER, GAS AND OIL 


Brass and Iron Valves and Cocks; Railway, Steamship, Machinists’, Engineers’ and 

Factory Supplies 



138 AND 140 CENTRE STREET 

TELEPHONE, “ SPRING 837 ” 


NEW YORK 


SELLING AGENTS FOR 


Crosby Steam Gage and Valve Co., Rensselaer Straightway Gate Valves, the Marsh 
Patent Automatic Air Valves, Excelsior Radiators 


fcKKKK><^3 


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s-adddddd 0 - C>Oc|^-jDiD-D<fDp^P^D{ 
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u 



T. D. WHITNEY & CO. 

Importers and Dealers in 

Linens and Housekeeping. 
Dry Goods 

For furnishing Hotels, Restaurants, Steamers, 

Public Institutions and Families 


Wedding Outfits a Specialty 


143 Tremont Street, 


Boston 


0 “ 




a 

RUSSELL & ERWIN MEG. CO. 

MANUFACTURERS OF 

FINE BRONZE METAL AND OTHER DOOR LOCKS, 
KNOBS AND DOOR TRIMMINGS 

BUILDERS’ FINE HARDWARE 

SPECIALLY ADAPTED FOR 

PUBLIC BUILDINGS, HOTELS AND PRIVATE RESIDENCES 
ALSO IRON AND BRASS WOOD AND MACHINE SCREWS 

FACTORIES : NEW BRITAIN, CONN. SALESROOMS I | 


tr fi 

8 Al 

<3 hM 

1 ? w 


0 


The Door Trimmings used on the Hotel Ponce de Leon are of our manufacture 


BATTERSON, SEE & EISELE 

[Successors to A. L. FAUCHERE & CO.] 

Choice Marbles of all Kinds. Onyx, 
Granite and Porphyry 

SPECIALTIES IN BUILDING AND MONUMENTAL WORK 

431 Eleventh Ave., New York 

James G. Batterson Walter F. See John Eisele 




: cK2-0-d00acK! dft-b LLL-DLLP bLXv 








J. K. SMITH 

Slate, Tile and Copper Roofer 

WATERBURY, CONN. 


Tile and Copper Roofs a Specialty 

Estimates furnished on application and all 
work guaranteed 


G>qKSj£>£)0 ot>DiD-D£> 






PERTH AMBOY TERRA COTTA CO. 

PERTH AMBOY, N. J. 

New York Office, 18 Cortlandt Street, New York 

MANUFACTURERS OF 

Architectural Terra Cotta 

BUFF, POMPEIAN and COLORED BUILDING BRICK 

J. B. & J. M. CORNELL, ? U 


IRON 


BUILDINGS, BRIDGES, ROOFS, FRONTS, GIRDERS, 
BEAMS, STAIRS, COLUMNS, &c. 


Office, 141 Centre St, New York 


Contractors for the Iron Work of Hotel Ponce de Leon and Alcazar 




a<33-3-cK| 













<V & 


^a^q.q.oc}Ocf^OcStt,to<34DOODonE@aacJaaacloac!-:i:KDt)fcfc{ 3 te't.c,&.; 


ESTABLISHED 1861 





0 
0 

£gfc& ft 

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OAKLEY & KEATING 

40 CORTLANDT STREET, NEW YORK 
MANUFACTURERS OF 

Laundry Machinery 

For Hotels and Institutions 



Plans, Specifications and Complete Outfits 
furnished 


•*V 


fk? 

g M 

8 fM 

$ idyl 

?f 

ft f 7 


Send for Illustrated Catalogue and References 

t 


HAVILAND & CO 



6 kK 

1 w 

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6 I r 
# .1 io 

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■ft 


PORCELAIN SERVICE FOR PONCE DE LEON 

FURNISHED BY 

ABRAM FRENCH & CO. 

FINE CHINA and GLASSWARE 

CORNER 2ii, 213, 215, 217 DEVONSHIRE STREET, BOSTON 





Special attention is paid to fitting up 

YACHTS, CLUBS AND PRIVATE RESIDENCES 

Correspondence solicited and estimates given 


e 


ft <pss& 
ft F/V* 

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W^iUssJ^ 
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B #qcKX>a 90 q 9 qc£££D£O£>{o££;&n| 

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€ 85 £|WfrHEJ> 

1827 



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J)e^nep^ and CDana facta pep^ of 




and C^imne^-epieee HoV e Iti e <j 

mpordesl and J)ome^(:ie (iile^ for® Facira^ and “Heaphl^j 

Poandpie<j> and g^op^, £a<j>t 28tl2 and 29b !j g>bj>. and g>eeond yiVe. 






a 


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W. & J. SLOANE 

ARTISTIC CARPETINGS 

NOVELTIES IN 

AXMINSTER, WILTON, MOQUETTE, BRUSSELS AND VELVETS 
ANCIENT AND MODERN ORIENTAL RUGS 

ALSO A CHOICE STOCK OF 

UPHOLSTERY GOODS 

EMBRACING 

LACE CURTAINS, SILK DAMASKS, BROCATELLES, TAPESTRIES, PLUSHES, JUTE 


VELOURS, CRETONNES, Etc. 

Broadway, 18th and 19th Streets, New York 



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WATER FOR 
UPPER FLOORS 
IN 

CITY AND COUNTRY 
RESIDENCES 



WATER FOR 
LAWNS, GARDENS 
AND 

GENERAL 
IRRIGATION 

ERICSSON DELAMATER RIDF 

DELAMATER IRON WORKS 

C. H. DELAMATER & CO. Proprietors 

MANUFACTURERS OF 

ERICSSON’S NEW HOT-AIR PUMPING ENGINES, IMPROVED RIDER HOT-AIR PUMPING ENGINES 



DELAMATER STEAM PUMPS 

SINGLE AND DUPLEX 


WAREROOMS, 21 CORTLANDT STREET, NEW YORK, N. Y. 


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WORTHINGTON 

Steam Pumping Machinery 

INDEPENDENT CONDENSERS 

WATER METERS 



SEND FOR ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE 


HENRY R. WORTHINGTON, New York 

Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis, San Francisco 



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BERG MANN & CO. 


I7TH STREET AND AVENUE B, NEW YORK 

ELECTRICAL WORKS 

ARTISTIC ELECTRIC LIGHT FIXTURES 
COMBINATION FIXTURES 

FOR ELECTRIC LIGHT AND GAS 

A SPECIALTY 

DESIGNS AND ESTIMATES FURNISHED ON APPLICATION 




AUTHORIZED MANUFACTURERS OF ALL 



Edison Electric Light Apparatus and Appliances 

SHOW ROOMS, No. 65 FIFTH AYE., NEW YORK 


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CHARLES WHITTIER, PRESIDENT. 


ABEL C. WHITTIER, Treasurer 


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WHITTIER MACHINE CO. 


Office and Works, 1176 Tremont St., Boston. Foundry, cor. Granite and 1st Sts., South Boston 

MANUFACTURERS OF 


Steam, Hydraulic and Belt Elevators 

BOILERS AND BOILER-PLATE WORK OF ALL KINDS 

Engines, Paper, Rubber and Sugar-Refining Machinery, Hydrants, Water, Steam 
and Gas Valves, Shafting, Pulleys and Hangers, Ship Steerers, Steam Heat¬ 
ing Apparatus, and General Machine Work. Iron and Brass Castings 

New York Office, 91 Liberty Street, New York 



The Elevator, Boiler and Heating Apparatus of Hotel Casa Monica were supplied by the Whittier Machine Co. 




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SCHNEIDER, CAMPBELL & CO 


(Successors to Cox Brothers) 

MANUFACTURERS AND IMPORTERS OF 

Artistic Gas Fixtures, Marble Statuary 

REAL BRONZES AND CLOCKS, ONYX GOODS, PORCELAIN 
VASES, AND BRIC-A-BRAC 

7 & 9 Union Square and 20 East 15th Street 

NEW YORK 


Manufactory, 162 


NEW-YORK,CHICAGO,CINCINNATI, ST LOUIS 




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